A Squire's Tale
by Kid Blink
Summary: Wat meets Roland and Will


**Title: **A Squire's Tale

**Author: **Rebecca

**Fandom: **A Knight's Tale (Inspired by parts of Chaucer's 'The

Canterbury Tales')

**Rating: **PG

**Status: **Incomplete

**Series/Sequel: **NO series, just incomplete story...

**Feedback: **Yes, give me feed back. On the board or to my mail. I don't

care which.

**E-mail address for feedback: **

**Other websites: **

**Disclaimers: **The characters in this story loosely belong to Chaucer

and to the writers and director of the 2000 movie, "A Knight's Tale."

No mine, no sue.

**Summary: **About "Wat" - Brutal Truth, Friendships Emerge, Fluff...

Enjoy.

**A Squire's Tale**

He ran through the forest, desperately struggling to breathe.

Only turning back once or twice to see if the man was behind him, he

didn't slow down. He could feel the warm blood trickling down his chin.

If only he could get to the road. Voices. . . Praise the Good Lord! He

heard voices! Finally, when the trees dwindled and the forest met

the road, he stopped. Searching desperately, he looked each way for

the people he'd heard. Headed away from him, he saw the back end of a

cart go down over a hill in the dirt road. "Hey there! Good Sir!" He

hollered.

He began to run down the road toward the cart. As he reached

the top of the hill, he could see a man riding a horse in front of

the cart, and two boys riding, one considerably older than the

other. They'd slowed, and all three had turned to see the stranger

who'd called to them.

"What is it, boy?" The man asked, as Wat ran toward them.

"I. . ." He wasn't quite sure how to answer the older man. "I was

being. . . followed." He explained in between painful breaths of warm

air. The flesh around his left eye was bruised, the color of a dark

lake. He bled from his mouth and from a cut on his cheek. "Might I

ask of you a ride?"

The man examined the young man, "Are you a criminal, boy?"

"No! No, I haven't done anything! I'm just being chased. I was. . .

robbed." He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a few

coins. "I got away with this, only this. They have. everything." He

explained, still huffing.

The man pondered a moment, then, without any further

hesitation, he said, "Hop on the cart, boy." And Wat did as he was

told. "What's your name?" The man asked.

"Wat. My name is Wat." The two other boys snickered,

exchanging glances.

"Ah. Very well. I am Sir Ector, and these are my squires Roland and

William." He said, before he turned around once more. The cart began

to move, the older boy driving the two horses that pulled it. Wat

nodded to the two and looked down, knowing they already thought

little of him.

"How long will you be traveling with us, Wat?" Sir Ector

asked as he rode, not turning.

"Well, Sir, I don't mean to be rude,

but as far as you'll take me." Wat kept his eyes on the man ahead of

them, so they didn't have to make contact with either of the boy's he

rode with.

We're headed to the tournaments in London. Say, Wat, do

you know how to take care of an animal such as this?" Ector patted

his horse's neck.

"Well, of course, Sir. Why might you ask?"

"I'm the one asking questions here boy. Do you know the job of a

squire? To a knight?" Said Ector. William and Roland exchanged

glances once again.

"Why, yes Sir, I believe I know the job of a squire." Wat

replied, very interested in what this man was asking him.

"Would you like to be my third? Roland is still teaching

William the way, and I could use a few more hands to help out. How

old might ye be, Wat?"

"I'm 17 years, Sir."

"Good, good. Appear strong as well. Would you be interested

in the task, young Wat?"

"Aye Sir Ector, that I would." Wat replied, wide-eyed.

Later, that same evening, Wat stood with his new companions in the

stables. "Sir Ector, he wins often?" He asked the elder of the two,

Roland. "Aye, indeed he does." Roland replied, proudly.

Wat nodded, feeling better about the whole ordeal.

"And what of you," Roland asked, "Do you win often?" He added a

chuckle, and pointed to Wat's eye.

"Oh, it's just from the men who robbed m-"

"No, really," Roland interrupted, "What happened?" He asked, in a

trustworthy tone.

"I told you. . . I was robbed." Wat replied, frankly.

"Fine, fine, ave it your own way." Roland shook his head.

Each of the boys went back to their chore, Wat happened to be combing

Sir Ector's jousting stallion. After a good time in silence, Wat

paused in his work.

"It was me father."

William and Roland looked up from their work. "What was?" William

asked.

"This," Wat pointed to his eye, "an' this," he pointed to his lip,

then lifting his shirt in the front a few inches he added, "an'

this." He revealed a bruise a few inches in diameter.

Roland remained silent. It wasn't a proud moment for any of them.

"He came back early from the pub. is all. I was slackin' in me

chores." He said, returning to his task with the horse.

"He said I was useless, told me to be off. and before I knew what

was appenin', he nearly thrashed me." He took a deep breath. "So I

jus' took what I could, and headed for the woods. He only followed me

a ways."

"He's far behind you now." Roland assured. "You're with us now." And

not another word was said. Not another word was needed. A thankful

nod was Wat's reply, and with that the three promised a silent vow to

look out for each other as long as they were together.

10 years later.

"E's dead."

"What do you mean dead?" Wat asked.

"The spark of his life is smothered in shite." Roland said, "His

spirit is gone but his stench remains. Does that answer your

question?"

"No, no, no, no, no! He sleeps! Rouse him!" Wat replied, "We're

minutes from victory! I haven't eaten in three days!"

"None of us have, Wat!" Will yelled, equally as frustrated.

"We need to fetch a priest." Roland said, standing up from his

crouched position. He'd been hovering over Ector, and finally decided

there was no help for him. He was gone. The last blow of the lance

had finished him.

"No, e's not dead! C'mon! Wake up!" Wat protested, he moved to his

sire's dead body, and inspected it. After a few frustrated kicks and

blows to the knight, he stopped paying attention to Roland and Will's

conversation.

After reporting Ector was on his way, Roland turned to Will with

curiosity.

"I'll ride in his place." Will said, then to Wat, "Strip his armor,

I'm riding in his place."

And from that point, a chain of events took place that Wat never

thought he would live to see. Victory, joy, pain, betrayal, they'd

had it all within a few months. After preparing Will to joust full

time, they'd happened upon a rather peculiar man, Geoffrey Chaucer.

He would act as Will's herald and become a good friend to each of

them. Though he and Wat may not have gotten along in the best way,

they managed to deal with each other. While at their first

tournament, in Rouen, damage to Will's armor lead them to find Kate -

A blacksmith who was both proud and stubborn, but proved to work

well. She was delicate and strong at the same time. She proved

herself time and time again as a friend and an aid to her quartet of

struggling fellows. Wat had grown rather fond of her as time passed.

He'd grown to hate as well. Wat was exposed to a man who would

threaten his future, Will's love and the well being of his dear

friends. This man was Count Adhemar. Wat learned this man would

cheat, steal and lie to gain what he wanted, but in the end they

celebrated a joyous victory. William had defeated Adhemar at the

joust and in winning Lady Jocelyn's hand. It was a good time for all,

the celebrations that night.

Everyone, including Wat went to banquet that night. But the

fun didn't begin until the 6 of them traveled into a local London

tavern. Surprisingly, Jocelyn could hold alcohol well. Wat

remembered watching Will and his Lady exit the back door of the pub.

It was just the four of them, then. Geoffrey, feeling well and

confidant was off to make a few wagers. Roland had accompanied

Christina, Jocelyn's handmaiden to his and Wat's tent. Kate watched

two men fighting and cheered quietly for the Scottish man as he

smashed the last bits of a chair over the English man's head. She

couldn't resist a good fight. Wat examined her as she watched the

fight, and once it was done with, he turned his eyes to the

bar.

"Wat, are you ready for another?" She held up her mug.

"You bet your anvil I am!" He grinned, already having emptied

several mugs. "A keg?" He suggested.

She merely laughed and hailed for another two drinks.


End file.
